Route 7 Review - Page 19

Four Fathers Bobby Bolt I knew that something Was wrong when I saw George Washington cry. Four fathers, four white Fathers in the Black Hills Pointed their faces Through the rain and Fog, and turned their Hard stoned shoulders on America. Ashamed of son And of country, a father turns Away. This guilt goes down easy When you’re sixty feet tall, And Americans go down easy If you can make them small. Barely six feet tall, my father Only cries when he Is most angry with himself. He puts a hand in the wall So that some air might come